


The Awakening

by Trevlik65



Category: Robin of Sherwood (TV 1984)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24526237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trevlik65/pseuds/Trevlik65
Summary: A mystical vision and a prophetical riddle, what can they mean for the two men who share the encounter. Can one man stand alone against tyranny, beneath a ruler indifferent to suffering. Perhaps it is time to try, perhaps it is time for England to stand strong, to stand together. They just need someone to lead them, someone to believe in...
Comments: 10
Kudos: 9





	1. Prophecy

The Awakening Prologue

Sun filtering through the green canopy dappled the floor with small lights that danced amongst the moss and bracken of the greenwood.  
Robin lay upon his back beside the small brook, where the water bubbled and gurgled as it flowed over rocks and stones, chuckling on its merry journey toward the distant ocean. The young man sucked upon his grassy straw, staring at the small clouds that drifted lazily across the deep blue sky. Around him a breeze moved the new leaves upon the swaying canopy, keeping him cool beneath the warm sun. It was May, and spring was moving into summer with a heat that would warm the coldest heart.

Robin’s chores were done, and he relished such moments as these, when he could be alone with his thoughts – away from the bustle and noise of the village. Though he lived in the mill, just on the outskirts of Loxley, it felt at times as though he were surrounded by people, especially his younger brother, Much. The boy worshipped Robin and loved nothing better than to follow him around, chattering incessantly about some inane nonsense. Not that Robin minded, he loved Much – the boy was an innocent and always would be.

However, sometimes – just now and again – he would climb the small hill outside Loxley, on the edge of Sherwood, for a brief respite from the everyday comings and goings of the village and mill. Here he was level with the tree-tops and swooping birds, as close to the open sky as he could get; standing on top of the world.  
With the late afternoon rays warming his face, Robin’s mind began to drift and, eyes heavy, he relaxed upon the soft grass. Distant voices from below carried on the gentle breeze, as laughing children and braying cattle competed with the faint creaking of the mill wheel, the rhythm of life rocking him toward slumber.

As the young man let his thoughts float and fade with the clouds, a shadow fell across his face, and for an instant the bright sun dimmed and a chill washed over his limbs. Instantly, Robin was alert. His eyes flew open and he sat up straight. He had no weapon, his bow was safe in the mill; better not be caught in Sherwood carrying a bow, not if one wanted to stay alive.  
Robin surveyed the empty hillside and, shivering with apprehension, every instinct told him to be on the alert – something or someone was coming. A sudden haze now covered the base of the hill and the village and mill were lost in the fog-flooded valley. Here and there, odd branches peaked above the sea of mist, like drowning men raising their hands in one final plea. Above, the blue sky was rapidly darkening, brooding clouds replacing the white ones, clustering ominously in the distance, and moving closer. It was as if the afternoon was rapidly becoming night. Stars miraculously began to peep between the fast-moving clouds, so fast that Robin felt his head swim as he tried to focus on the remote pin-pricks of light.  
Something in his peripheral vision bought Robin back to his more immediate surroundings. Despite his lack of weaponry, the young man stood ready. Feet apart, he knew not what was coming, but he was ready to fight or flee as the situation dictated.

The mist had risen, and no longer could he see the tops of Sherwood. Indeed, he could hardly make out more than four of five steps ahead and, if he had to flee, he was no longer sure which way he would run. Robin balanced lightly upon the balls of his feet, trying to anticipate his next move, when a figure slowly emerged between the moving shadows and wisps of fog. A man? Robin was not sure. The figure was tall, taller than Robin, who was himself taller than most men. As the figure came closer, it glided through the wavering shadows as though they parted at his bidding. Robin was transfixed, he could not move, neither to fight nor run.  
Antlers rose from the head of the rapidly emerging figure, yet beneath them Robin could make out the lines and features of a man. Though he felt no fear, the young man’s breathing came in rapid gasps, as the creature began to speak.

‘When the hooded man comes to the forest, all will rise up and shake off the shadow of tyranny.’ The apparition moved closer still. ‘The time is near, he who has been chosen will claim his destiny.’  
Finding his voice, Robin called to the horned man. ‘Who are you? What do you want?

The figure raised both hands, holding them out before him toward Robin.  
‘The prophecy is fulfilled; Herne’s son is coming.’ As he finished speaking the mist began to close around him, consuming the strange image completely.

‘Wait, what do you mean? What prophecy?’ Robin shouted. He searched the mist but the half man, half beast was gone. The fog began to shred and clear, and slowly trees lifted up their heads toward the heavens once more, as the clouds broke apart, revealing a bright blue sky and the golden light of a spring evening. Robin stood agape – what magic was this? As voices drifted up from below, he tried to dismiss the strange happening. There once more was Loxley, moving as it always did, the golden rays of sunshine casting long shadows before the small homesteads, smoke curling gently upon the soft breeze.

‘Robin, Robin!’ The voice of Much pierced Robin’s befuddled brain, rousing him from his reverie. ‘Supper’s ready, Robin. Where are you?’

Robin moved hesitantly forward; he felt his head, had he fallen? No, there was no pain. He must have fallen asleep in the warmth of the sun, that must be it. What a dream, and yet it had seemed so real. When the hooded man comes to the forest. He laughed nervously, if that did not sound like a dream, he could not imagine one more bizarre.

‘Robin!’ His younger brother’s voice rang out again, urging Robin to respond.

‘I am coming, Much.’ The distracted Robin finally found his feet and began to lope across the hilltop as someone emerging from a deep sleep. By the time his brother spotted him running toward him, Robin had resumed his normal athletic grace. Much beamed with satisfaction as Robin placed his arm around the smaller boy’s shoulder.  
‘Come on, Much, no time for dallying.’ Much giggled at Robin’s teasing and together they raced toward the mill and the tempting aroma of stew that wafted from the open doorway.

ooOoo

Chapter One The Prophecy

‘What do you mean, you were not able to collect the taxes from Loxley? By what right do they deny me the tithe I have set?’ The Sheriff brought his goblet down so hard upon the table that dark drops of wine, like blood, stained the linen cloth. Gisburne fidgeted nervously; he had not been looking forward to breaking the news of Loxley’s defiance to de Rainault.

‘The elders claim they do not have the gold and plea for more time, my Lord.’ The young soldier shifted from one foot to the other. ‘They told me if I burnt the village to the ground, I would leave with nothing, but if I gave them a few more days they would make good the amount owed.’

‘And you believed them? You let them get away with challenging me? You must have taken leave of your senses, man, if indeed you have any. In the morning, return to the village, and if they cannot pay, burn it to the ground. Leave no one alive. I will make sure every villager and serf in Nottingham understands that they cannot refuse the Sheriff – and if they try, they will not receive mercy.’ His spiteful smile played upon his mouth as he gazed into the dark liquid, and brought it slowly to his lips to drink.

‘Very good, my Lord Sheriff, I will see it done.’ Gisburne gave a low bow, before turning on his heel and leaving the large hall – grateful to have gotten off so lightly.  
The Sheriff waved the rest of the servants away as the remains of his meal were removed – suddenly he had little appetite. Loxley... he should have burnt the place to the ground years ago when he had been crossed before, but he had thought the problem solved, but now it appeared the damned place was raising its head above the muck again. Only this time he would sever their rebellious attitude before it became more than an arrogant whisper.

As he stared lost in thought across the darkened room, the sconces sent flames that danced and moved upon the stone walls. Smoke from the fires moved and drifted along the floors just like the mist upon Loxley Hill. For some reason he could not look away, could not break contact with the swirling wraiths that rose and fell before his bewitched eyes. His heart clenched and a chill ran through his veins as a figure emerged from within the smoke and flames. 

‘You!’ the Sheriff gasped, as the tall figure became clearer, his fur-draped form shifting amidst the swirling smoke; antlers that suggested animal, not man – a God of the forest.

‘Prepare, the time is coming, the hooded man will return to the forest. Wrongs will be avenged and the weak will be made strong. Herne’s son is coming, and he will take back what is rightfully his.’ 

The Sheriff frowned, gazing at the sight with a mixture of awe and anger. By what right did this creature, this peasant myth, dare to intimidate him? The vision began to flicker and wane.  
Still de Rainault watched, his features contorted into a mask of fear and disgust.  
Suddenly a loud retort interrupted the moment.

‘My Lord! You have a visitor, Sire. My Lord Sheriff, are you well?’ De Rainault could hear the voice whining in his head, the way one hears a fly hovering somewhere near, and cannot ignore. Though he was long gone, he continued to gape at the spot where the antlered figure had appeared. The smoke had now dissipated, leaving no evidence of the disturbing spectre.

‘Out of my way, Gisburne. What ails my brother?’ The sound of Hugo’s voice had the effect of cold water upon the dazed Sheriff. He blinked rapidly before adjusting his focus to observe the rapidly approaching figure of his brother.

‘Ah, Hugo, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?’ Despite the indifferent delivery the Sheriff’s head was reeling. He may be of Norman decent, but he made it a point of interest to understand the ridiculous myths and customs of those within his domain – and the English certainly had enough foolish beliefs to keep him busy. The fact was, that despite the madness of such a concept, he recognised the otherworldly apparition when he saw it; but what did Herne the Hunter, father of the greenwood, want with him?

‘Robert, what is the matter with you? Are you bewitched? You are staring again.’ Despite his disdain, the cleric could not help but look somewhat nervously over his shoulder. Hugo was considering slapping his brother when the sheriff once again shrugged off his musings and attempted to focus on the events in hand.

‘Stop fussing, Hugo, I am fine, I have a lot on my mind. What do you want?’

‘Well that is nice. Why must I want something to visit my only brother?’ the Abbot muttered. However, despite his feigned indignation, Hugo had the decency to look contrite.

‘Because you always want something, Hugo, usually gold,’ the Sheriff responded.

‘Well not this time, but I do need your assistance.’ Hugo helped himself to wine from the table and made himself comfortable, whilst Gisburne hovered uncertainly in the background.

‘Of course you do, dear brother. And how exactly may I help you this time?’ The Sheriff was secretly glad of the distraction, as it prevented images of the antlered myth from crowding his subconscious. Hugo nodded to Gisburne, who bowed and bolted for the doorway. De Rainault watched him go, unsure whether the man was eager to leave the room, or eager to reach his destination – but eager he was.

‘A missive arrived last month from the Holy Land. Sir Richard of Leaford is dead, killed in battle.

‘So?’ the sheriff interrupted, sensing some long, tedious, drawn-out explanation.

Hugo shrugged. ‘He leaves a daughter, the Lady Marion. He has made her my ward.’

‘Good God, why? Did he not like the girl?’ the Sheriff grinned in amazement.

Hugo scowled. ‘Very amusing, Robert. The problem is I have nowhere to keep a girl. I want you to give her a home at the castle; it is safer and… more suitable.’

The sheriff looked appalled. ‘Why should I have the upkeep of her? I do not need a weeping, wailing woman moping around the castle, it is depressing enough as it is.’  
He had not heard Gisburne return; unusual, as the man was lacking in grace and subtlety.

‘Then I shall endeavour not to weep and wail, my Lord Sheriff. However, I would be more than happy to return to Leaford and leave you in peace,’ a soft but haughty voice rang out.  
De Rainault turned toward the girl who had spoken. She was younger than he had expected, perhaps no more than twenty summers, perhaps less. Her skin was pale and smooth, and a sprinkling of freckles ran over her nose and cheeks, making her look even younger. However, the most striking feature was the riot of curls that haloed her head and tumbled around her slender frame like tendrils of fire falling to her tiny waist.

The Sheriff remembered his manners and rose. ‘The Lady Marion I assume? I am sorry for your loss, my dear.’ He looked from the girl back to the Abbot.  
‘It would appear Lady Marion left her home somewhat reluctantly, Hugo.’ The cleric glowered at his irritating brother. 

‘I could not leave a young girl alone when she is in my care, now could I?’ Hugo whined, refusing to meet Robert’s eye. A sound from Marion indicated she had more to say on the matter, but she chose to stay silent. De Rainault gleaned a tale behind the girl’s response and his brother’s discomfort and, smiling inwardly, he looked forward to uncovering its source – but now was not the time.  
‘Well, it is getting late and you cannot travel at this hour. My Lady, please accept my humble hospitality and stay as my guest this night. Tomorrow we will discuss the matter further.’ The Sheriff smiled.

With little choice Marion consented. ‘Thank you my Lord, I admit I am weary.’

‘Gisburne, show the Lady Marion to her rooms. Goodnight, my Lady.’ He watched with wry amusement as Gisburne turned over a chair in his hurry to light the girl’s way out of the hall. The man was a fool, but even fools had their uses. He turned his attention back to Hugo, who was slowly making his way through his brother’s wine.  
‘I suppose Leaford left considerable property and lands?’ the Sheriff asked, the cynical grin on his face causing his brother to bristle.

‘I do not know what you are trying to imply, Robert. The lands will form part of the Lady Marion’s dowry.’ Hugo shifted uncomfortably beneath his brother amused gaze.

‘Really? Well perhaps I should consider marrying her myself,’ the Sheriff teased, giving a hollow laugh as the Abbot’s eyes bulged in disbelief.  
‘Now I really must bid you goodnight, brother, for tomorrow promises to be as interesting as today has been… unusual.’  
With that, the Sheriff rose and followed the torch bearer, the mocking smile suddenly replaced with a frown as he mounted the shadowy staircase, checking for horned beasts in every nook and alcove, and fearing sleep may prove as elusive as the mythical Herne.


	2. Vengeful Justice

Thank you for reading my first chapter. I must say I am just trying to find my feet and so the Chapters are rather short at the moment. This fandom calls for a very different approach to the Musketeer stories I am used to writing and I want to make sure I get the tone and content right to do the subject matter justice. So please bear with me.

Chapter 2  
Vengeful Justice  
Robin sensed something was wrong as soon as he sat to eat his meal. Martha, the woman he had called Mother for so many years, looked pale, her expression strained, on the verge of tears. As for his Father, Matthew, ate his stew, face solemn, there was no merry chatter, just brooding silence.  
Much continued to eat his food, prattling happily about the minutia of his day, oblivious to the fraught undercurrent.  
As the meal drew to a close, Robin looked at his father, ‘What’s wrong?’ his voice little more than a whisper. Martha was clearing the dishes and he preferred she did not hear the question. He suspected the explanation would only upset her further.  
At the sound of Robin’s voice, Matthew looked up, startled. Much’s harmless chatter had floated over and around him, not registering in his mind, but not so Robin’s enquiry.  
He looked at the young man across from him, the flames reflected in his eyes, giving him the look of some fey creature from the dark of the forest. It was as though he was seeing him for the first time. The miller had taken Robin, from the arms of his father, Ailric, that night, when he had been just a small boy. Later, when his friend failed to return, he had not hesitated to take in the orphan, and raise him as if he were his own.  
Now, that frightened child was a grown man, a man Ailric would have been proud of, but there were times when Robin seemed to have an uncanny understanding, a sense of someone older than his years. Something in his eyes, the tone of his voice. Matthew feared if he looked too closely, he would see what he feared most - the desire for change, the same yearning for justice and rebellion that had burned in his father’s eyes, all those years ago.  
‘Matthew, what is it, what has happened?’ Robin frowned, the look on his Father’s face told him something was terribly wrong.  
The man sighed, ‘Gisburne and his men came to the village today, to collect the taxes,’ he looked mithered. ‘Farold told him they could not pay, to come again when the crops had ripened then the village would have enough to make good the amount due.’   
Robin was confused, ‘ He refused to pay, why? What did Gisburne do?’ the idea that Farold could have refused the Sheriff was incredible. You simply did not refuse taxes and not expect reprisals. No wonder the Miller and his wife were afraid.  
Matthew shook his head, ‘He said he raise the village to the ground, Farold told him that way, he would get nothing. Gisburne backed down but vowed he would return. The Sheriff will not tolerate Farold’s defiance. There has been too much talk lately of making a stand, of showing the Sheriff we are not sheep to be herded and controlled,’ he looked at Robin carefully, he knew many young men in the village had begun grumbling and sowing the seeds of doubt amongst the elders. There were few left in Loxley who remembered the last attempt to revolt, when Ailric was murdered, those that followed him fled. Matthew had never understood why the Sheriff had let Loxley be after that, but he suspected that would change now. He would not allow Loxley to harbour seeds of unrest once again.   
‘We must be ready!’ Robin stood bristling with urgency. Matthew looked at him in horror.  
‘Read for what? What do you expect us to do?’ he made it clear he had already accepted his fate and had no desire to change the course of the events to come. Robin looked at the people in the room, Martha watching her husband, the fear on her face now clear. Even Much, who had finally picked up on the tension in the room, and had fallen quiet, now they all looked at Robin.  
‘Gisburne will be back, he will bring more men. The Sheriff, he will use Loxley to send a message - we have to make a stand.’ His voice had grown louder, outraged that they were just sitting here with only hours to spare. Tired and frustrated, Matthew stood too.  
‘And just what do you suggest we do? Gather arms, make a stand, try to overthrow our Norman overlords. Fight for justice, a fairer England.’ He threw his hands wide, no longer caring that Much was cowering in fear and Martha’s tears had begun to flow unchecked.  
The two men had eyes only for each other, the young and the old, youth struggling with experience.  
‘And what is so wrong with that? What is wrong with a fairer England, why shouldn’t we have justice?’ Robin cried. He knew there had been whisperings in the village, he had been approached by the other youths, to discuss ways to change the lot of men such as they. Until now he had not had the urge to join them, he was no fool, he knew their chances against the might of Norman soldiers was slim to none. Yet that did not mean he did not understand their disquiet, that he did not share their idealism. Now it seemed he might not have a choice, he could not stand by and see Loxley destroyed, his family torn apart – not again.  
‘I have watched you and wondered Robin, wondered how much of your Father was in your blood. I hoped you may be happier with a simpler lot, but deep down I knew it would not be. Your father was a hopeless idealist, he dreamt of raising the people and tearing down the oppression of the Norman elite. Look what happened to him, killed in a rain of arrows, hung on the crossroads for all to see, until the birds had pecked his bones clean. I will not help you achieve the same fate. Wake up boy, you know nothing of fairness, justice, you are young. Life is never fair, the likes of us, we don’t expect justice, it is enough to be left alone in peace. Don’t get involved Robin, don’t bring yourself to the Sheriff’s attention, I beg you Robin, let it be.’  
Robin was torn, in all the years he had been under Matthew and Martha’s roof, they had asked nothing of him, but shared with him all that they had. How could he deny them now?  
All this talk of his Father, a man he hardly remembered. He remembered the shouting, the   
thunder of the horses hooves that night. He remembered being dragged from his bed and thrown upon his Father’s horse as they rode into the night. His Father had left him with Matthew and then ridden away to his fate, ‘Nothing is forgotten Robin, nothing is ever forgotten,’ those were the last words his Father had ever said to him.   
Well he was obviously not his Father, he was not going to stand beside Farold and prevent Gisburne’s retribution, he would do as Matthew asked - nothing – but it felt wrong and he wished he had had the courage to do otherwise.  
‘Robin, you won’t do it will you?’ Much interrupted. The boy’s plea was the last straw, Robin could see the fear in Much’s eyes as he held onto Robin’s arm, finally beneath the weight of expectation, he sighed – partly with resignation, and partly with a growing sense of the inevitable, of something he could not see, only feel; something that he could not fight -something was coming that would change his life forever.  
ooOoo  
Marion had slept badly, her life had been torn apart and she felt lost, afraid, not that she would let the Sheriff or his brother the Abbot realise her fear. The torches had long died out, and the room was dark and cold, alone in a strange place, she lay in the sparse room, waiting for the dawn light to filter through the window, desperate for it to chase away the creatures that hid in the shadows.   
Yet she had dreamt such dreams, strange disturbing dreams. Marion tried to piece the fragments together, to make sense of the unsettling feeling that lay heavy on her heart. There was fire, and screaming, where she did not know. A man, his face obscured, hooded, an arrow, then screaming and darkness.   
She had awoken cold, not because the fires had burnt out, but because of the icy fist that squeezed at her heart, she pulled the furs around her and prayed – but for the first time she was afraid God was not listening.


	3. Devils in the Dark

Chapter Three Devils in the Dark  
Robin had given up trying to sleep; he had been awake for some hours, and dawn was not far off. After promising his father and Much he would make no attempt to thwart the Sheriff’s men, he had needed to be outside, away from the tension of the Mill. Unlike most of the villagers, who feared demons and devils in the dark, he was not afraid of the forest at night. It was not that he did not believe in the myths, spirits, or the power of the Earth and trees, he was simply not afraid of them. From a small child, Robin had felt an affinity with the Earth and nature; as far as he was concerned, the only things likely to do him harm were the Sheriff’s men!  
Robin knew this forest as well as he knew Loxley – better apparently, if his father’s revelations were to be believed. He walked deep into the forest, treading lightly on the mossy floor. In the darkness, the leaves were lost in shadow, only the sound of them whispering on the night wind giving away their presence high above his head. He walked for some time, until he felt the tension begin to ease. Though he had made a promise, he was not sure he could keep it, and the possibility weighed heavy on his conscience.  
Robin sat upon a fallen oak, reliving the conversation again and again. He was conflicted, how could he have been so blind, so naive not to see this coming? Obviously, after he had made his feelings toward rebellion clear, the others had made sure not to include him in their discussions. The young man knew the story of his real father; as soon as he considered Robin old enough to understand, Matthew had sat him down and explained what had happened that night. Perhaps he had sensed something of Ailric in the boy – or maybe he just though the boy had a right to know. Whatever the motivation had been, Robin understood what ensued when one man attempted to stir a revolt with nothing but justice and the will to do good on his side. He knew first-hand how the fist of their Norman overlords dealt with such rebels.  
Robin was no coward, but he realised that refusing to pay the Sheriffs taxes was no act of rebellion, it was simply suicide. There was no organisation, no well thought-out plan, just a few hot-headed men who had taken it upon themselves to make a stand, and now, it seemed the village would pay the price – and he had promised to do nothing.  
Robin ran his hand through his hair and stared out into the darkness. Owls and animals of the night called to one another somewhere near, but nothing else moved – what else he expected he did not know. Something swooped low above his head, the soft brush of its wing caressing Robin’s cheek as the mournful cry of the hunting owl pierced the silence.  
Robin shifted his position; the night was cool, and he could feel the early summer chill creeping into his bones. He had reached no decision, found no solution to allay his fears; he could only pray the Sheriff would show mercy and leave the innocent alone – but the dread that clutched at his heart told him that was unlikely.   
Whilst he debated his next move, a strange thrumming sensation began to run through his body, a strange tingling that was becoming familiar. This time he sensed the presence, attuned now to the change in atmosphere that preceded the visions.  
A shift in the shadows captured his attention. He could make out nothing clearly, but the darkness was no longer complete – now it moved in tones of black and grey. Mist emerged from out of the forest, drifting around the roots of the trees, as if the anticipation he felt was taking on a physical form – only this time Robin was ready, this time he was not afraid.   
He stood tall, bracing himself for what, or who, was to come. The cool wind dropped, and the whispering ceased in the canopy above, all was still and silent. Robin waited, but no figure appeared. Still he felt the tension in the air, like the coming of a storm, yet still there was no sign of the creature from the hillside.   
Without warning, Robin staggered, his mind suddenly overcome with strange sounds – voices, shouting, the clash of steel – like a senseless cacophony in his head. Though his vision was blurred, in desperation he searched the clearing, but there was too much mist to see beyond the ring of trees. Blindly, Robin reached for the fallen log and sat heavily. Closing his eyes, even though he knew he was not present he heard the voice of the horned man.   
The hooded man is coming; it is time to make a stand. Time to be who you were meant to be. The voice in Robin’s head began to fade, the vision of flames and the clashing of swords dying away to leave a thunderous silence. He tried to speak, to ask the questions that had been going around in his head since the events on the hill earlier that day. But he could not formulate the words, and his limbs remained heavy, and as the mist gradually began to recede as though it had been recalled back into the woodland from whence it had come, he could do nothing. Just as he had known the presence was coming, he now realised the moment for questions had passed. He was alone once more.  
Tired from all the questions and visions churning around in his head, Robin turned for home. He gave the clearing one final look before lifting the hood over his head and striding toward home, hoping for a few hours’ rest before dawn.  
ooOoo  
Marion pulled the covers closer around her shivering form. Despite the warmth of the day, the night had turned cold, and drafts crept beneath the wooden doors of her room, gently moving silky tendrils of hair upon her damp brow like the invisible caress of icy fingers. The fire had long since died away, leaving nothing to keep the shadows at bay as they hung in the corners of the strange room, waiting for her to close her eyes so they might creep closer and steal her soul.  
Annoyed with herself and her wild imaginings, Marion shook her head, trying to drive away the growing sense of apprehension that hung around her like a shroud.  
Just as the young man sought solace in the forest, she too looked for some form of distraction, she too could not sleep; strange nightmares, misty forms and pained cries had haunted her dreams. Now she gazed out on the barren landscape of the Sheriff’s apartments and dwelt upon the unknown path she was about to embark upon, the future she had once planned for no longer certain.  
Marion sat like that for some time, desperately waiting for the golden rays of dawn, so they may chase away the demons which played upon her fears whenever she tried closing her eyes. She had been so weary at first, but sleep had come only briefly and then so violently she had prayed for her deliverance from evil. Now she prayed only for daylight – no matter what the coming day may bring.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Making a Point  
Smoke mixed with morning mist, dawn bleary eyed, raised her weary head over Nottingham and the waking town slowly emerged from its slumber. Merchants and tradesmen set up their stalls, whilst carts rumbled through the slowly filling thoroughfares; men, women and animals all hurrying through the chill morning air to begin earning their daily crust.  
Marion had risen as soon as the sky began to lighten, the new day finally promising to lift the gloom of her apartment following a night of dreams and disturbed sleep. She had not forgotten the Sheriff’s promise to discuss her future, and she intended to ensure he made good on his gesture. She had been plucked from Leaford Grange so quickly that there had been no time to make the necessary preparations; she had left many things undone and goodbyes unsaid.  
Dressing quickly, Marion hurried to the great hall, determined to be responsible once more for her own fate. As she entered, Gisburne was just leaving. He had obviously been in discussion with the Sheriff and now moved with purpose toward the doorway. Consumed with his own affairs, he remained unaware of Marion’s approach.  
‘Ah, my Lady Marion, good morning. I trust you slept well?’ de Rainault asked, indicating she should join him at table.  
‘Thank you, my Lord Sheriff, but I must admit I slept fitfully. It was rather cold.’ She picked at her food, waiting for the right moment to broach the subject of home.  
‘Yes, I am sorry about that, the ghastly place is riddled with gaps and poorly fitted doors that positively summon gales. Poor workmanship I’m afraid.’ He offered a reassuring smile, but Marion knew de Rainault had meant poor English workmanship. Still, she ignored the insinuation – she needed him on her side if she wished to persuade the Abbot to allow her to return to Leaford.   
Taking her courage in both hands she began to plead her case. ‘Last night, my Lord, you promised to consider my return to Leaford Grange today, and I would be perfectly happy to go back home.’ Despite her nervous energy, she managed to maintain an air of subjugation. ‘You are a very busy man, my Lord, and I would not wish to add to your responsibilities.’   
‘Well now, my Lady, I understand how difficult it must have been to receive news of your father’s death, and then, before you could deal with your grief, to find yourself torn from your home, but I must admit I rather think my brother had little choice.’  
Marion suspected the Abbot had not even stopped to consider his choices – he had merely seen the size of her lands and rubbed his hands at the prospect of ruling them for his own gain. She was about to push her case when the Sheriff spoke again.  
‘Surely you understand that it would have been remiss of the Abbot to leave you alone and unattended once your father had placed you in his care?’ It was indeed unusual for de Rainault to uphold his brother’s actions – not something he did often. In fact, even the Sheriff was surprised by his endorsement, though his thoughts were busy elsewhere. Marion was frustrated but knew she would achieve little by weeping and wailing, as the Sheriff had so tactfully put it. Instead she gave him her best smile and poured him more wine, a little early in the day, perhaps, but if it helped…  
‘I do understand his dilemma, my Lord, but my father had no such concerns when he rode away to the Holy Land. He had faith in me, leaving me to administer his estate, something which I have done admirably, I believe, so the Abbot should not deem it remiss to allow me to continue as I have done this past year or more.’ If her chin stuck out just a little and her voice adopted a slightly petulant tone, she could no longer help it. However, she could tell by the Sheriff’s distracted demeanour that his mind was elsewhere, and Marion knew she was stretching his tolerance by pursuing the matter.  
De Rainault sighed. It was only just dawn and he should still be fast asleep – but Gisburne had already put an end to that – and now to have this girl pouting and posturing was more than he could stand. Still, if it shut her up... ‘Perhaps for now we could reach some form of compromise. If you could return to the grange for a few days, it would allow you to see to those chores and tasks you feel you left unfinished.’ And leave me in peace, he added to himself. He gave Marion a distracted smile, his eyes all the time remaining upon the door.  
She considered pursuing her argument, but she knew it would be in vain. However, a few more days at home were certainly better than another night in that draughty room, and who knew what might happen after that. If only she had known, if she had only chosen a different path – but perhaps her path had never been of her choosing from the start.  
‘Very good, my Lord, thank you. When may I leave?’ The Sheriff was only half paying attention now.  
‘Oh, whenever you like. Speak to Gisburne, he will arrange an escort.’ He waved his hand, indicating he had tired of the conversation and, as far as he was concerned, the problem was dealt with.  
‘Thank you, my Lord.’ Marion rose and left the hall quickly, hurrying to her apartment where she dressed for travel. Now she only needed to seek out Gisburne and persuade him to take her without delay.  
ooOoo  
De Rainault had awoken early, a terrified servant having had the temerity to summon him to speak to an even more agitated Gisburne.  
‘What in God’s name is the matter, Gisburne? Do you know what hour this is? I hope it is nothing less than anarchy that has had me dragged from my bed!’   
Gisburne looked more than a little uncomfortable, no longer sure his reasons for summoning the Sheriff would be considered justified.  
‘My lord Sheriff, I have received word that the rebels in Loxley are planning to storm the castle. He attempted an air of control, but in truth was fighting between the urge for action and the necessity to follow orders. What would you have me do, my Lord?’  
De Rainault looked incredulous. ‘Storm the castle? What with, pigs and staffs?   
These are disorganised, delusional peasants, Gisburne. I doubt they could storm the washhouse, let alone the castle. Who informed you of you this fantasy?   
‘Why, a petty thief we caught trying to steal from the tradesmen as they were given admittance to the town at first light. He tried to bargain with information. He says he came through Loxley and he overheard their intention.’ Gisburne fairly bristled with excitement.  
‘Really? They just discussed their plans for an uprising in front of a complete stranger? Gisburne, the peasants in Loxely are in no way capable of mounting an attack upon Nottingham. However, the sooner they are taught a lesson the better. Take your men and deal with the village, but bring the ring leaders to me. I need to make a point, you understand.’ He raised a brow and watched for Gisburne’s reaction.  
‘I understand, my Lord. I will see the dogs pay for their arrogance and treachery.  
ooOoo  
The soldiers and horses milled around in the courtyard in front of the castle. De Rainault was aware of raised voices, and amazed to note that one was female.  
‘What is all the fuss about, Gisburne? I thought you would be long gone. What is the delay?’  
Gisburne strode close to the Sheriff, and to de Rainault’s distaste, whispered in his ear.  
‘It is the Lady Marion, my Lord; she insists I take her to Leaford. I have told her I have business in Loxley, but she insists she will wait, and we can continue the journey when I have finished.’ Gisburne was flushed, not used to verbal sparring with ladies.  
‘Insists, does she? Well in that case take her with you. Perhaps when she sees your business first-hand, she will wish she hadn’t. Perhaps she might be less inclined to insist in future. Take Friar Tuck with you, she might need him when you are done.’ De Rainault smirked at his own humour, before returning to the castle, all thoughts of Marion and Loxley forgotten.  
Gisburne looked uncomfortable but nodded and turned away.  
ooOoo  
Marion rode through the silent fields amid the morning haze, which hugged the grass and danced around the hooves of the horses. She rode alone, even though she was surrounded by soldiers. Gisburne had not attempted to speak with her; he was deep in thought, and any conversation Marion had attempted had been received with polite but distracted replies. In every case, he had avoided eye contact and she had to admit his demeanour made her uneasy. He was behaving like a man who knew he was guilty, yet guilty of what Marion could not fathom; she was just relieved the Sheriff’s chaplain had been sent to accompany her, at least with brother Tuck she felt at ease.  
The mist up ahead appeared to grow thicker, and tall reeds swayed slowly, moving with the gentle flow of the river. Marion was puzzled. Why they should be heading toward the water’s edge she did not know, as there was no crossing for a mile or more that she could remember. As they grew closer, the soldiers parted the reeds to reveal two large rafts tied to a stake in the riverbank. Marion looked at Gisburne in surprise.  
The young soldier could find no words. It was one thing to lay waste to a village of serfs, but to do it with a well-bred lady to bear witness was another thing entirely.  
Making one last attempt to rid himself of this unwanted observer, Gisburne implored Marion yet again. ‘My lady, I do think it would be better if we delayed your journey to another day; perhaps put off your leave until midday has past.’ There was a note of desperation in his voice, and the look of trepidation on his face made Marion’s blood run cold, but she had travelled too far to turn back now. She feared if she returned to Nottingham either the Sheriff would change his mind, or the Abbot would intervene.  
‘No, Sir Guy, I think not. We are over halfway – it would make no sense to turn around now. I promise I will not hinder you in your task.’ If only she had known just what that task was, she would have kicked and screamed to prevent it from happening.  
‘Very well, then might I suggest that when we reach the far bank, you and the friar wait amongst the trees on the far side of the village.’ He managed to catch the eye of the worldly-wise Tuck, and some unspoken word passed between them. Tuck shivered. He dared not imagine what plans Gisburne had for the village of Loxley, but he understood that Gisburne wanted the Lady Marion as far away as possible.  
To Marion’s surprise, the soldiers began to load their horses onto the rafts. Gisburne led her mount on to the floating bridges and they began to move slowly and silently across the expanse of water. She knew they were upon the river, but the mist made it look as though they were gliding in the air. Only the gentle slap of poles hitting the water broke the stillness as they made their way toward the sleepy village.  
ooOoo  
Robin awoke with a sudden jolt, as though he had been shaken awake by some unseen hand. His heart raced as he sat upright, instantly alert. There was no one nearby, but he could hear shuffling on the other side of the curtain. Much’s bed lay empty, and judging by the light filtering through the cloth at the window, dawn had now passed. Frowning, he sprang from the cot and hurried into the main room of the mill.  
‘Martha, where is everyone? Why did you let me sleep so late?’ He had not meant to speak so harshly to the woman who had reared him, but he could not shake the feeling of alarm that had overwhelmed him on his waking.  
Martha looked nervous and glanced at the doorway, toward the working part of the mill.  
‘Matthew said not to wake you; he said to let you rest.’ She averted her gaze and continued to sweep the floor, though the angle of her shoulders spoke of the tension in her body – she was praying Robin would ask her nothing more.  
A sound interrupted the rhythmic swishing of her broom and Robin tilted his head, waiting to see if it came again. This time it was louder, clearer; there was no mistaking the sound of a woman’s terrified scream. Martha shrieked, dropping her broom, just as Robin grabbed his bow and darted from the mill, racing toward the sound of the haunting wails – for it was no longer the sound of one, but the agonised cries of many.  
ooOoo  
As the horses stepped onto dry land, the soldiers remounted. Gisburne nodded to Tuck and indicated the distant tree line some way off. ‘Friar, take the Lady Marion into those trees and wait until I return. Do not come back, not matter what you hear.’ He turned abruptly and mounted his horse.   
Tuck, sitting astride his own pony, steered Marion in the direction he had been shown. She was questioning the wisdom of his actions, but he had a good idea things were about to turn very nasty, and it was not something she should be a party to.  
‘I don’t understand, why do we have to hide in the trees?’ Marion questioned, as Tuck urged her to hurry.  
‘My Lady, I feel it would be for the best, we would otherwise only be in the soldiers’ way. Let us remain here until Sir Guy has finished whatever business he has with Loxley.’ He noted the raised chin and feared the young woman would protest, but to his relief she did not. He had only known her a short time, but already he had grown fond of the feisty girl.   
As they reached the shelter of the trees, the first cries rent the air. Marion’s horse pranced and bucked in surprise and she looked at Tuck in fear. ‘What was that? Do you think someone needs help?’ She made as if to turn back to the village but, as more frantic screams echoed through the mist, Tuck blocked her way.   
‘I think it would be best to remain here, my Lady. This is the Sheriff’s business, and you do not wish to see how Sir Guy fulfils his master’s orders.’ Tuck looked at Marion, his eyes pleading with her not to insist. The blood-curdling cries coming from the village were enough to make her hesitate, but she looked toward the fearsome sounds and could only imagine what terror was causing such a commotion.   
Her horse had only just begun to settle when once more it trampled the ground in fear. This time, the source of its consternation was much closer. As Marion leant forward to sooth the animal, the nearby bushed parted and a figure ran in front of them. She looked toward the source of her horse’s discomfort, and was about to make her displeasure clear, when the young man turned in her direction. Their eyes locked for only a second, but the words died upon her lips, and she stared after his retreating form as he made toward the village.  
Marion was not sure what had just happened, but she felt as though the air had been knocked out of her lungs. The young man had been tall, and despite his urgency he had moved with a subtle grace. But it had been his eyes that had taken her aback – she had held them for no more than an instant, but they had said so much. In one glace she had beheld fear, sorrow and anger; why she did not know, but she knew he was headed into danger and for some reason it terrified her.  
‘He is running to the village, he will be hurt, we must go.’ Marion began to manoeuvre her horse, but this time Tuck was not quick enough, and Marion gave him the slip. The horrified friar shouted out in alarm.   
‘No, little flower, please, it is no place for the likes of you. Please do not go to the village!’ His voice was filled with dread and the girl could not ignore his desperate plea. She turned and hesitated once more.  
‘What are they doing Tuck? Tell me.’ Tuck knew if he did not, she would ride ahead, with or without him.  
‘I do not know for sure, my Lady, but what I do know is that the village refused to pay the taxes due when Sir Guy called for them yesterday. The Sheriff was furious, and I can only guess he is executing his revenge… literally!’ He hung his head so as to avoid seeing the horror upon the girl’s face.  
ooOoo  
Robin raced out of the tree line, only vaguely aware of a presence as he passed. Glancing in the direction of the snorts of a startled horse, he was surprised to see a young girl astride the stomping animal. He was gone in the winking of an eye, but the vision of pale skin and tangled fire made an impression on his mind he could not shake.  
As he entered the village, he paused to take stock. Bodies already littered the ground; grotesque arms, raised in silent pleas for mercy, erupted from the mist shrouding the dead. But it was not thick enough – Robin could clearly see women and children, a babe clutched to its mother’s breast, the spear securing their bond for all eternity. His stomach churned, but he did not stand still for long. Horses ran in all directions and he jumped out of the way as one hurtled past him, the soldier reaching down and raising his weapon. Robin drew back his bow and let his arrow fly. Sure of his aim, he did not wait to see the result, but dodged in and out of the huts trying to find anyone still alive.  
A woman’s shaking voice called out from a tumbled building. ‘Robin, master Robin.’ The roof had fallen away and the burning thatch was providing enough smoke to mask her presence from the soldiers, but not for long. Acrid smoke and the crackle of fire rent the air, making it difficult to breathe. The heat was clearing the mist, but it was difficult to tell as black clouds and ash took its place.  
‘Sarah, where’s Martin?’ Robin crouched beside the terrified woman, who clutching a girl in one arm and a boy in the other.   
She lowered her head, and he saw her shoulders shudder as large sobs racked her body. ‘Dead, they killed him, Robin, he never hurt anyone, what shall I do?’ She raised her dirty, tear-stained face and looked to the young man, hoping for an answer.   
‘Do you still have relatives in Elscombe?’ Robin asked, as he scanned the immediate area for soldiers. As the bodies increased, the cries were beginning to lessen.   
‘Yes, but it’s many miles, and the little ones are too scared to move,’ Sarah sobbed. Robin looked into the faces of the two children – twins, he remembered. Smiling gently, he held out his hand.  
‘Come with me, we’re going on an adventure.’ The little boy came willingly – he, like everyone else in the village, knew Robin from the mill. The little girl was more reluctant, but she followed her mother as Robin urged them to follow.  
The small band ran amidst the smoke, trying to keep as close to the remaining structures as they could, but it was not enough. As they ran from one burning home to another, they were spotted by two mounted soldiers. Robin turned on his heel and bought one down with an arrow before the rider could even raise his sword. The other wheeled around and bore down on the screaming children brandishing his bloodied spear. In the weak morning sun, despite the gore still clinging to the metal its sharp point seemed to shine like a jewel. As the man prepared to bring down his judgement upon the women and her children, Robin scrambled atop a barrel and launched himself at the startled soldier.  
Both of them crashed to the ground. Robin had the advantage of speed and agility that the other man, clad in armour, did not. The fight was clumsy – Robin had no sword and no time to draw his bow. His adversary got to his feet and roared in anger as he charged. Spotting the burning building next to him, Robin grabbed a jutting timber; thatch still clung to the end with sparks and flames leaping like a torch. Just as the sword came down toward his head, Robin blocked with the burning beam then swung it with full force at the surprised soldier’s head, knocking his helmet askew just enough for Robin’s second blow to do its job. The man fell to the ground hair smouldering as he did so.  
Robin dropped the wood and grabbed his bow. The woman and children were too stunned to argue, they simply followed where Robin led.  
They made the edge of the village without further incident; no more cries, just the snapping of timbers as the fire levelled the buildings to rubble.  
ooOoo  
Despite Tuck’s urging, Marion had walked her horse closer to the village, but the smoke and flames had ensured she had remained at a distance. She watched in amazement as the young man from the trees emerged out of the smoke. He swung a small boy effortlessly upon his shoulders and ran toward her. A woman followed, hugging a small girl to her chest as she attempted to maintain Robin’s pace, something she was obviously finding difficult.  
‘Master Robin, I can’t keep this up, my chest hurts, the smoke and all.’ Sarah began to stumble, and Robin stopped, gave her his arm, and encouraged her to hurry forward.  
‘Come on, Sarah, just into the trees then you can rest. I must warn Matthew and Martha. I have no idea if the soldiers will attack the mill.’ As Robin turned back toward the woodland, there was the moonglow and fire once again. This time he had longer to study the figure to whom the vision belonged.  
The young girl still sat astride her horse, and in a gown of moss green and a cloak of russet gold, she looked like woodland nymph.   
The young man stood before her, vibrating with energy, despite the lone cry in the distance, and Marion felt as though she were experiencing a frozen moment in time, where no one else existed. The two stared at one another for what seemed like eternity. Eventually, Robin was startled from his reverie by a voice.  
‘Come no further, we want no trouble. We will not hinder your escape.’ Both Robin and Marion looked toward the young friar, Tuck, who was now standing beside Marion’s horse brandishing a sword. Robin’s face broke into a beguiling smile.  
‘No need for violence, brother. I just need one thing from the lady.’ Robin looked back toward Marion as the friar gasped and Marion tilted her head to one side, her eyes wide in surprise.  
‘And what may I ask is that?’ the young girl demanded, the familiar jut of her chin indicating her intent to refuse.  
‘Your horse,’ he stated, as though it were obvious. The grin was now wide, and the twitch of his brow evidence to his confidence.  
‘My horse?’ Marion looked confused, but the young man was now at her side offering her his hand to help her to the ground. For reasons she did not understand, Marion slipped from the saddle and allowed him to clasp her hand in his own. Despite the calluses from hard labour there was a smoothness, and though the long fingers held onto hers just a little too long, she made no attempt to shake his grip.  
‘Thank you,’ Robin offered. His voice was low, and Marion noted a gentle melodic quality to his tone that, despite the mildness of the weather, caused her to shiver.   
‘Sarah!’ Robin helped the woman up onto the horse and one by one passed up the two children. ‘Ride to Elscombe, you will be safe there. Stop for no one.’   
‘God bless you, Robin,’ Sarah shouted as he slapped the rear of the horse, urging it to race off into the trees.  
‘Robin!’ Marion cried.  
He may have been surprised to hear the girl use his name, but the urgency in her voice overrode such thoughts. He turned hurriedly and saw Gisburne and three soldiers riding toward him. He had no time to think, or draw his bow; Gisburne and his men had the advantage and Robin was soon surrounded.  
‘Throw down your weapon, serf.’ Gisburne yelled. Fired up with adrenalin following the razing of the village, he was now happy to posture and show off his power to the Lady Marion.  
‘I am no serf, I am a free man,’ Robin replied, head held high. Gisburne’s wrath was swift, as he brought his armoured fist across the young man’s face, causing Robin’s head to snap to one side beneath the knight’s fury.  
‘You are a serf if I say you are!’ he spat in anger. Marion was unaware she had cried out when Robin was struck; stupefied, she could only watch the scene in disgust.  
Robin raised his head, shaking his dark hair from his eyes. Dabbing the blood from his lips, he held Gisburne’s stare, never lowering his own, adamant he would show no humility before the arrogant Sheriff’s emissary.  
‘Who are you?’ Gisburne demanded.  
‘Robin of Loxley,’ Robin replied, his eyes burning with hatred and pride.  
Gisburne smirked. ‘Not anymore you’re not. Better forget the place ever existed.  
‘Nothing is forgotten, nothing is ever forgotten,’ said Robin. There was something in his voice and expression which held Marion and Tuck in thrall, but Gisburne winced as if struck and this only stoked his anger.  
‘Toss him with the other ring leaders; they all go back to Nottingham to hang.’


End file.
